


Song Of The Rock, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 2nd Age - Pre-Rings, Canon - Enhances original, Characters - Strongly in character, Drama, Plot - Disturbing/frightening/unsettling, Plot - Surprising reversals, Subjects - Art, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Evocative, Writing - Foreshadowing, Writing - Well-handled PoV(s), Writing - Well-handled introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:19:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4221490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turgon gives Tuor the grand tour, not only of Gondolin but of the heart and spirit of the Noldor.  Lyrical yet darkly ironic, with an ending that will make any Silmarillion reader wince and look away...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Song Of The Rock, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

It is beautiful, is it not?

I have been told the hope of the Noldor lies in the west – there beyond the  
ocean in the Blessed Realm, there were I was born, me and my brothers and  
sister, and my mother and father before me. I remember its light, think not  
I have forgotten. I remember the fair Tirion; it is not within my power to  
forget.

But standing here near the window in twilight, sometimes I can imagine I  
stand in Tirion, and it does not take much lying to myself.

It is beautiful; it will stand.

Come, then. I shall show you the city.

If you wish to live here, which I am sure you will once you have seen all  
my wonders, you must know the city. It is like a lover, a shelter rather  
than a house, not merely pale walls and faraway towers. The city is alive  
around you, it has a soul, it has dreams, it has a name.

Its name is Gondolin – song of the rock. Do not forget it, nor its meaning.  
It is the song we have sung on our journey here, the song the wind carried  
as we built and labored, the song we sing every morning at the rising of  
the sun and every evening before the wondering moon. Song of rocks and  
people, here lies the hope of the Noldor, in the songs we have sung on our  
own, in the rocks we have shaped for ourselves. Is it not beautiful? Know  
the city, love the city. In you the city will be made eternal.

Ah, well… not in you, perhaps. I am sorry.

Come and I shall show you all my wonders. There stand the towers, can you  
see them? Are they not magnificent, defying the pull of the earth? Are they  
not fairer than all you have known, because they were made by living hands?  
What trees, what lovely mountains can compare? It is said the Valar made  
the trees and mountains, that they are works of art just as the city is.  
But what value has art if made in the hands of a god? Nay, it is the art  
that we make, lowly creatures of the earth, which you look upon, much  
truer.

Can you see the towers? All can see the towers, and yet they are hidden,  
and Gondolin is hidden. No enemy will break down our gates; no blood will  
stain our white towers, nor smoke trail high above them, obscuring the  
beacons in their tops. Here we are safe, here we have hope. Here lies the  
hope of the Noldor, and it will stand, don’t you think? Can you see? Love  
the city, the city will survive to tell your tale.

Come and I will show you the art of my people, come and see the walls, come  
and see the houses, come and see the windows opening to the air. In the  
windows stand my people, they look out and the sun shines over our city,  
and light beckons light, and there is a song of light in the song of the  
rock. I am being poetic now, perhaps overly so. What is it you say? That I  
love my own works? Aye, say that once more. How right you are.

But come and see them, come and see their purity, walk now with me among  
the white streets. Tirion that my grandparents have built was never this  
fair to behold. The hope of the Noldor does not lie there in the west; it  
lies here among the rocks, in the clear air and sunlight, in what we have  
made ourselves. Breath the fresh air, it will always be here for you to  
breath, look upon the light. Once it is ours, it will forever be so.

Maybe not yours, but ours.

It will stand; do you see that it will stand? Though mortal be your eyes,  
behold immortality. Love the city. The song will do on forever, until Arda  
is remade, and then we will sing it still.

Come and I will show you the beauty we have created, we the Noldor who have  
left our hope in the west. Here lies new hope, as here lies new light. The  
trees are silver and golden, can you see them? No mortal eyes have gazed  
upon that which inspired us to shape them, and yet are they not here? This  
is the city, everything beautiful we have known, we have created anew. In  
us it will live on, though now destroyed and dead. It lives on here, in the  
city, in the song of the rock lives on the Song of the World. Can you see  
it? We have made immortal what the Valar themselves could not.

It will stand – they shall ensure that it will stand. Where else did their  
most hallowed creations live on? Nay, it will stand. Love the city, for  
here you see the eternal. Here are echoes and memories with shape and  
substance of their own. Our city, the hope of the Noldor. We, too, can  
create light. Can you see it?

Come and I will show you our pride. Look upon that wall, look upon the  
carvings, look upon the gentle shapes we have laid in the pavement and the  
doors. Many years of labor went here, and yet we work on, not tiring,  
unthinking of the end. There will be no end, not in the city, we will shape  
on, those gentle works of art, we have time for them. See that wall, the  
clear white wall, there I have sat for more days than I can recall, and yet  
still the work is unfinished. The work goes on forever, layer upon layer,  
form upon form; we see it unfold as if it is a tale, a song. Can you see  
how beautifully the song and the rock interweave?

Maybe you cannot, after all you are human.

I am sorry, sorry that you can see only a few scattered notes.

But it will stand, comfort yourself with knowing it will stand even after  
you are but dust, that it is as immortal as your soul. Here are our souls,  
here in the rock, here in Gondolin. Our souls will give it strength and  
light, our souls will give it hope. Here lies the hope of the Noldor, and  
let the west be forgotten. Here in this wall alone, here is everything.

Love the city, love it, you of all my people, love it best, for it is  
everything your kind has ever wished for. Light, song, immortality, the  
ability to shape, to give yourself hope. Everything is here in Gondolin;  
everything shall always be here. Love the city, within it is the power to  
make you immortal, to add the notes your own soul plays to the great song  
of it. Where is immortality if not in the city, in what we have created?  
Where else may we be remembered but in the beauty we leave behind?

But we shall not leave it behind. Never.

It will stand, our pride will stand, the hope of the Noldor will stand.  
Look upon my works. It is beautiful, is it not?

Now, what were those tidings you have said you bring me?

 

 

~~End~~


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